The Brooding Surgeon's Baby Bombshell. Susan Carlisle

The Brooding Surgeon's Baby Bombshell - Susan Carlisle

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pile. Grabbing it, she opened it and searched until she found a diaper. Laying it as flat as possible on the floor, she carefully slipped it beneath the boy’s head, then held his head steady to stop him from squirming.

      Gabe nodded to her then said, “Bobby, I need to see if you’re hurt anywhere else. Your mom’s right here. She can hold your hand, but you must be still.”

      The boy’s crying quieted, although tears continued to roll down his face.

      A crowd circled them yet Gabe’s full attention remained focused on the child.

      The mother moved to the opposite side of the boy, going down on her knees beside Zoe. Taking his small hand, she said, “I’m here, honey.” The baby on her chest started to cry and she patted her on the bottom. “Don’t cry, Bobby. You’re making me and Susie cry too.”

      The boy gave her a sad smile. His chest shuddered as he struggled to stop sobbing. The mother’s eyes were wild with fear as she stared expectantly at Gabe.

      “Bobby, do you have a dog?” he asked, reaching for and pulling his suitcase to him.

      “Uh-huh.” The boy grew quiet and watched Gabe.

      Nimbly, Gabe unzipped a side pocket and removed a stethoscope. “What’s his name?”


      “Marty—that’s a good name for a dog. Did you give it to him?”

      Zoe shifted closer to the mother. Placing her fingers on the pulse of the boy’s wrist, Zoe checked his heart rate.

      “One-ten,” she told Gabe. Thankfully it wasn’t very high.

      Zoe looked up to see a security guard hurrying in their direction. When he arrived she said, “I’m a nurse and he’s a doctor.” She nodded in the direction of Gabe. “Call 911. This boy needs to be seen at a hospital.”

      Thankfully the man didn’t waste time arguing and spoke into his radio.

      Meanwhile Bobby was saying, “No, my mom did. I wanted to name him Purple.”

      Gabe grinned. “Purple. That’s an interesting name. Is he a purple dog?” While he spoke to the boy in a low tone, Gabe listened to his heart, checking his pulse and looking into his eyes.

      “There’s no such thing as a purple dog,” the boy stated. “It’s my favorite color.”

      Gabe chuckled and patted Bobby on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be playing with Marty soon.” He spoke to the mother. “I think he’ll be fine, but he may have a concussion and need to stay in the hospital overnight for observation.”

      Blinking, she swiped away the wetness on one cheek.

      “I’ll see that you’re taken care of. Don’t worry,” Gabe assured her.

      Seconds later the emergency medical techs arrived. They relieved Zoe and she stood. Her hands were a mess and one of the techs handed her a wet towel to clean them.

      Gabe had been tender with Bobby, even able to distract him, which was a talent in itself. He showed promise at being a good father. Caring concern was every bit as evident in his interaction with the boy and mother as it had been during the night they had shared. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to accept him as part of her and the baby’s life. If he was truly serious about it. Her fear was that when reality set in he might change his mind. Right now, he was just being noble.

      Gabe was busy giving the EMTs a report about what had happened when Zoe found her bag and headed to the nearest restroom to wash her hands. When she came out, Gabe stood nearby.

      She checked her watch and shook her head. “I have to go. It’s almost time for my plane. I have to get home.”

      He didn’t look pleased with her putting him off once again. “I’ll be in touch.”

      “Okay.” She pulled a card from her purse and handed it to him. “My phone number is on it. ’Bye, Gabe.”

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